


Tangled Up In Your Eyes (and the annoying pain in the ass)

by Flulamela



Category: Tangled (2010), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Fluff and Humor, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is So Done, Getting Together, Jaskier is a Disney Princess, M/M, Roach is So Done (The Witcher), Stregobor is a DICK, We're just doing this for fun bros, Writing Exercise, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flulamela/pseuds/Flulamela
Summary: How do the old stories start? What is the best way to begin?Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was a summer boy, with hair gold as summer afternoons, eyes blue as the sky at noon, voice as sweet as the larks in the early mornings.Once, there was a man of winter. Hair as white as the mountain snows, eyes yellow like the arctic wolves, heart covered with December's first frost.There was a kingdom. A sorceress. A mage. There was good and there was evil, and perhaps, there was love.There was also a horse.But no, that’s not quite it now is it? Let me try again.Once upon a time…A Gaskier Tangled Au because why the fuck not. Sadly there is no magically long hair, but there is singing, fighting, 'hmming' and a raven because Jaskier is a magical Disney princess now.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	1. Auspicious Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Me_Ka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Me_Ka/gifts).



> Welcome once again friends, to the madness that is my writing!
> 
> Back at it again with this stuff because we be living in a Pandemic bros and my friend (Me_Ka) and I, thought that we would try to encourage each other's creativity (since it's been hard because I study fulltime and she works fulltime). 
> 
> So here is the first part of that challenge! Pick your current favourite ship and put them in your favourite Disney movie. Technically I still completed it because our max word count was 5k, but as you can see, its merely a chapter and not a condensed story. The day I finally write a condensed fanfic is the day we land on Mars...
> 
> I might keep adding to this story as I see fit, might just keep posting random chapters depending on how our challenges go! Feel free to voice your thoughts in the comments ^_^
> 
> *DISCLAIMER* - I do not own or claim to own any property of Disney or The Witcher series, also, the fact that the Kingdom's name is Corona has nothing to do with the virus, its just the actual fucking name from the film (crazy, I know)

How do the old stories start? What is the best way to begin? 

  
Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was a summer boy, with hair gold as summer afternoons, eyes blue as the sky at noon, voice as sweet as the larks in the early mornings. 

Once, there was a man of winter. Hair as white as the mountain snows, eyes yellow like the arctic wolves, heart covered with December's first frost. 

There was a kingdom. A sorceress. A mage. There was good and there was evil, and perhaps, there was love. 

There was also a horse. 

But no, that’s not quite it now is it? Let me try again. 

_Once upon a time…_

* * *

In the middle of the woods, just outside the kingdom of Corona, there was a small cottage. Not that most would notice it. If one was walking by and _did_ happen to notice its presence, then they would see a rather disgruntled looking raven attempting to hide in the flower box nearby an open window. 

Jaskier was quiet as he snuck up on Quoth. He could just see the shimmering black of his tail feathers resting on the edge of the windowsill. Jaskier smiled to himself - as clever as Quoth was, he tended to forget that he wasn’t a fledgling anymore when they played ‘seek-the-raven’. 

Easing up slowly to the window, Jaskier sighed out loud, talking to the air.

“Oh where could have that tricksy raven gone? Surely he’s not outsiiide…”

Creeping closer, Jaskier just made out the faint clicks as Quoth softly snapped his beak together in what the bird assumed was his soon to be triumph. Jaskier got a little closer, savouring the moment before…

“Found you!” 

Jaskier quickly regretted his decision to shove his head out the window to shout, as Quoth exploded into a flurry of feathers with an undignified squawk, his wing clipping Jaskier upside the head slightly. 

“Ow! Hey, Quoth! Careful where you swing those!” Jaskier rubbed at his forehead lightly, sending a small pout to his feathered friend. Quoth just gave him a beady-eyed glare, fluffing up his feathers and mimicking a small growl. Jaskier returned it only for a moment before laughing to himself. 

“Right, I suppose I got what I deserved eh?” He smiled, holding out his elbow for Quoth to climb on. Quoth clicked his beak at him one more time before lifting himself and daintily - as daintily as a huge corvid can - stepped on Jaskier’s arm. Jaskier gave him a quick scratch under his beak as a further apology, which Quoth seems to magnanimously accept by gently tweaking Jaskier’s ear.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier spun around, making Quoth let out another squawk, which quickly caused Jaisker to shush him just as his father’s voice called out again.

  
“Jaskier?”

“C-coming father!” Jaskier yelped, throwing his arm slightly to get Quoth to take to the rafters of the cottage. Quoth, knowing the drill, smoothly flapped up near the ceiling, his inky black feathers helping to hide him in the shadows. Jaskier just managed to smooth himself out in time for his father to stride into the room. His father’s robes swirled around his ankles as his gaze found him, blue eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.

“Ah, my boy. Get your father a chair will you?” His father asked, moving over to the mirror that stood in the corner by the window, “it’s been a long day of travels”.

Jaskier hurried to get a chair, trying to calm his beating heart. Today was the day, he couldn’t lose his nerve now. Placing the chair by his father, Jaskier took a step back before clearing his throat. 

“Ah, er, Father?” he started, silently cursing the hesitance that crept into his voice. When his father continued to look at the mirror, he took a breath and tried again.

“Ah Father, I was wondering if I could ask you something? You see, it’s going to be my birthday soon, w-which I’m sure you know, cause it happens every year, anyway since it’s coming I was wondering if I -”

His father held up his hand, causing Jaskier to stumble to a halt over his words. His father’s stern gaze peered back at him through the mirror, making his tongue swell up in his throat.

“Jaskier,” his father sighed, “what have I told you about the rambling? You know how annoying I find it”. His father’s eyes remained coolly fixed on him till Jaskier looked away.

“Y-yes, sorry father” he replied, sheepishly. He didn’t get to feel bad for long though, his father’s arms quickly embracing him. As the two pulled apart, his father clapped Jaskier on the shoulders. 

“Why, don’t you let me freshen up and then we can talk about whatever it is you were asking, hmm?” 

Jaskier nods, his father moving to take a seat in front of the mirror. When Jaskier doesn’t move right away, his father lifts a greying eyebrow.

“O-oh! Right! Yes, that kind of freshen up!” Jaskier hurries over to the chair, standing behind it placing his fingertips lightly on his father’s temples. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he reaches down into the well of light within him. Jaskier slowly feels himself drawing it forth, his mouth already forming the words as the song passes through his lips.

“ _Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine”_

Jaskier felt his father relax subtly under his fingertips, so he continued onward, hoping that this would put him in an agreeable enough mood.

“ _Heal what has been hurt, change the fates’ design. Change what has been lost, bring back what once was mine, what once was mine”._

As soon as the last notes were past his lips, Jaskier opened his eyes. He caught a brief glimpse of his hair fading back from its magical glow to its usual blonde, before peering down at his father. 

Any streaks of grey that had formed in his beard and slightly wild hair were gone, returned to their natural black colour. Jaskier quickly stepped away, giving his father room to stand and stretch. He was practically vibrating, waiting for the chance to speak as his father checked himself over in the mirror. 

Stregobor peered over his son’s handiwork, nodding with satisfaction. “Never gets old now does it?” he said, chuckling to himself. 

“Well then”, his father continued, dragging the chair back over to the table, “what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Jaskier grinned, _here it goes_.

“Well, as I was saying…” he started slowly, “it’s going to be my birthday soon, and, seeing how I’m going to be turning twenty-one and all, I thought that, well, maybe… Icouldgooutsidetoseethemusiccompition?” 

Jaskier said the last few words in a rush, both his excitement and nervousness getting to him. He started to pace around the room, continuing on with his explanation, not noticing the way his father’s brow started to furrow. 

“I mean, it should be fine cause I’ll be twenty-one soon! And I’ve been doing some composing lately, cause you see, the music competition happens every year right? Just before my birthday, I know cause I sometimes catch a bit of the melodies on the clear nights-”

“Jaskier…”

“And they’re very nice melodies! Except, I think I can do better, well I think I _have_ done better, and anyway, I thought that maybe, if we go together, then I could sign up this year-”

“Jaskier”. 

“A-and I could join! I know you’re always saying how the world is a big and scary place, but surely one day wouldn’t hurt right? Plus, imagine if I won! N-not saying that I will of course, but imagine if I _did_ , and then - “

“Jaskier!” 

Jaskier stops mid-step, his ramblings cut off by the sternness in his father’s voice. For a moment, when he looks up, his father’s eyes look almost murderous, cold. Then his father blinks and he’s shaking his head, standing up to walk over to Jaskier. 

“Oh, my silly little Jaskier” his father crooned, cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands. Jaskier, used to the nickname, still couldn’t help but pout, face flushing with embarrassment. 

“Jaskier, you know why you can’t go outside”, his father continued softly, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. “How many times do I have to tell you?” 

Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip, he knew why his father was so reluctant to let him outside. Magic voice and glowing hair and all that. Still…

“Why can’t you just go with me?” he tried again. “Surely it wouldn’t be that bad if we just went together? And it would just be for one day! One night even! It wouldn’t even take that long - “

“Jaskier”. His father’s voice turned cold, his thumbs pressing into Jaskier’s cheekbones now. His eyes were a dark blue-grey, glittering with a cold frost. Jaskier gulped. 

“There will be no going outside today, on your birthday, or any other day, do you understand?” his father asked in a tone that brooked no argument. 

Jaskier managed to meet his father’s eye for a moment, a spark of defiance rising within him. But feeling his father’s fingers continue to dig into the sides of his face had him quashing it, looking away with a muttered, “yes sir”. 

His father stared at him a moment longer before letting his arms drop to his sides. He sat back down in his chair, heavily.

“Oh, now look what you’ve made me do” his father sighed morosely, “I’m the ‘bad guy’ now”. 

Seeing his father rub his face tiredly made a twinge of guilt shoot through Jaskier. He slowly approached, moving to the back on the chair again to give his father a neck rub. 

“I’m sorry father” Jaskier started, “I’m the one who shouldn’t have brought it up”.

His father tilted his head slightly to accommodate Jasiker, ‘hmmm-ing’ briefly in response. 

“No, no you shouldn’t have,” his father said, agreeing. He reached up and patted Jaskier’s arm, “it's alright though, I forgive you”. 

Jaskier nodded to himself, mostly trying to keep the hurt from being denied inside. He continued to work out the kinks in his father’s neck, mind circling slowly. He peered around the cottage room, internally lamenting the fact that once again, he’d be spending his birthday within its four walls. As his gaze roamed, they fell onto the small desk he kept in another corner. Seeing it, Jaskier felt his eyes widen as an idea came into his head. Trying not to let his hands shake from renewed excitement, Jaskier took a small breath.

“Father… since I can’t go outside, I was wondering if I could ask for something else for my birthday?...” Jaskier fought to keep his voice light, unassuming. His father stiffened underneath him slightly. 

“Yes? What is it?”

Jaskier swallowed. “I was wondering if I could have more of that ink you got me two years ago?”

At that, his father sat away from him, turning in his seat. Jaskier tried to keep his face as honest and earnest-looking as he could manage it, feeling his stomach swoop in the light of his father’s narrowed gaze. 

“The ones with the golden mineral flecks?” 

Jaskier nodded. “That’s the one! I know it’s a lot to ask but…”

Jaskier made himself turn away, as if embarrassed. “I was going to surprise you with a special song I’ve been working on”. He rubbed the back of his neck to make him appear sheepish, though it was really to hide how his hand continued to tremble. 

“I know it’s expensive to use that ink for composing, but I thought that if it was going to be my birthday song for you, I should use something special! You know, to commemorate the moment.” 

Jaskier gave his most charming smile towards his father, praying that he would accept the bait. His father’s eyes remained narrowed for a moment more, assessing Jaskier’s face. Eventually, though, he sighed, as if put upon. 

“Very well. But never say that I don’t spoil you” 

Jaskier nodded quickly, trying not to let his breath of relief escape him too fast. He watched as his father got up from the chair that he just sat down on, already heading towards the door. 

“You understand that it’s a two-day journey to get the components for it, yes?” 

Jaskier nodded again, moving with his father to see him off out the door. “Yes, which is why I knew it was a lot to ask for,” he said, helping his father get back into his travelling robes. His father shook his head, straightening the collar, before turning towards Jaskier. 

“Oh the things I do to keep you happy” his father muttered warmly, holding his arms out for a hug. Jaskier smiled gratefully, returning his father’s embrace. He squeezed his father tight, hoping he wouldn’t feel how fast Jaskier’s heart was pounding. 

“Still, better strengthen the wards before I go” 

Jaskier’s eyes shot open, almost tensing before he remembered to stay relaxed. He could only watch with a sinking heart as his father flicked his fingers, the normally invisible runes etched into the doorway flaring briefly. Happy with his handiwork, his father gave Jaskier one last pat on the head before grabbing his walking stick and opening the door. 

“I’ll guess I’ll be back in a few days then. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone!” 

Though his father’s voice was light, Jaskier didn’t miss the way his father’s eyes gleamed momentarily in cold sternness. 

Jaskier waved his fingers weakly, “Oh well you know me! No trouble to get up to in here…”

His father smiled at that, a thin thing that always looked stretched no matter how many times Jaskier sang. Then he was shutting the door, the wooden panels falling with a heavy ‘thunk’ against the frame, Jaskier just matching out the small snitch of the latch catcher on the outside. 

Father gone, Jaskier let out a huge sigh, his shoulders collapsing. He heard a flutter of wings before he felt the solid presence of Quoth alight on his shoulder. Quoth gave a few concerned chirps, beak pressing against Jaskier’s golden hair. He reached up absentmindedly, petting Quoth in weak reassurance. 

“Just you and me Quoth” Jaskier huffed. He glared at where he knew the door runes to be. Then he straightened again, determined. He turned on his heel away from the door, making Quoth flap in surprise. He strode over to the small collection of books his father had brought him over the years and started to go through them. Surely there had to be an answer on how to break the runes somewhere right? 

Setting some books on his desk, he shot Quoth a confident grin from his shoulder. 

“We just need to get through just a couple of silly runes Quoth, then we can finally be free.”

Quoth just ruffled his feathers, hopping off Jaskier’s shoulder onto the desk. Pulling the first book of the small stack, Jaskier started pouring through it, looking for some answers.

It was just a couple of small protection runes, _how hard could it be?_

* * *

Geralt was having a pretty rough day. Not that that was unusual for him. Due to his line of work he was fairly used to being covered in some kind of bodily fluid (his own or others), flung across rooms, his body aching in every conceivable way, facing the threat of death in the form of teeth, claws, or some royal prick with too many guards and not enough gold. 

So by all means, this was a standard day for him. Though being forced to run away on the back of Roach was a rarity. So were the idiots following him, shouting and firing crossbow bolts in his direction. 

There was a hiss close by his ear, making Geralt duck just in time for another bolt to shoot pass, slamming with a thunk into a tree just in front of him. 

“Fuck”. The curse comes out as a snarl, the sudden movement that it took to dodge the bolt aggravating the slash across Geralt’s gut. He swears less because of the pain - thought it is a bitch - and more at his own stupidity. Clutching at the wound in one hand and the reins with the other, Geralt can only curse himself internally.

It should have been a simple job. The keyword being _should_. From the description Geralt got from the local lordling, it sounded like a few foglets. Nasty little things that hid in the fogs and could turn invisible, very good at taking a few chunks out of a person. 

Normally, it would be no problem for Geralt. While the invisibility and the illusion magic could be troublesome, it was nothing a few potions or his signs of Quen or Yrden couldn’t handle. Except it wasn’t just a few of the damn things, it was a fucking pack of them. Not just a random grouping of them either, they had been led by a gods damned ancient foglet, one of their kind who had been smart and mean enough to survive for more than a handful of years. 

Geralt had still managed to win, although it meant burning through all of his potions and his already small supply of magic. It also meant that by the time he finally cleaved the ancient’s head off, he had taken his fair share of bites and claws. 

He should have just waited, let himself heal, there hadn’t been a time-limit on the damn posting. But by the end of the fight, he was in a sour mood, angry at being given misinformation by an arrogant lordly prat. He just wanted to get his gold and then leave. Only, when he dropped the creatures head at the stupid lord’s feet, the weasly arse tried to get out of paying him. Something about the people’s thanks being reward enough. Under different circumstances, Geralt might have agreed. It wouldn’t be the first time he had taken a job just to help out the odd wayward farmer. But this was a lord, just hoping to get out of parting with his gold because he was too much of an idiot to keep most of it in the first place. 

Plus, there had been something about the lord’s eyes, thinly gazing down at Geralt with that pretentious smugness that was common for his type. Maybe it was that. Maybe it was the way Geralt saw the townsfolk when he first rode through, a resigned hopeless that had nothing to do with the monster he just killed. Maybe it was the fact that he had a shitty day and just wanted to get fucking paid. 

Whatever it was, Geralt couldn’t exactly unbreak the man’s face now could he? 

There was another hiss and Geralt tugged on Roach’s reins, causing her to dart to the left just as another bolt went past. He cursed again, his body pulsing in low agony. He could feel the sluggish flow of blood dripping over his hands, Roach’s sides expanding and contracting as she took in heaving breaths. 

Punching the obnoxious lord, while satisfying, had been stupid. Geralt had just assumed that like most times, the man would cry about it, there would be a tense standoff before the men in the room realized that a Witcher was probably not the best to fuck with, and he would take his gold. 

Just his luck that this lord had to be the aggressive type as well as stupid. 

Geralt had managed to hold the men off fairly well for a while. He’d hoped that after a few went down the others would just back off, his strength still pretty weak after the fight with the foglets. Instead, it seemed like they scented the blood in the air, grinning once they saw his sword arm was getting sluggish. Geralt’s senses had been all over the place, flickering in and out of intensity, a consequence of taking too many potions. That’s why he didn’t register the man behind him that snuck past his guard, slipping a knife between his armour. That wound wasn’t actually that bad, the dagger catching slightly on the leather. But it had thrown Geralt off balance, leaving him open to get slashed across the gut. 

That was when Geralt had run, managing to jump out a nearby window and call for Roach. _Better to be alive and poor than rich and dead._

He thought that he had lost then men once he got through the swap and deeper into the woods. He had taken a quick rest to try and bind up the slash in his gut, thinking that even if he hadn’t lost the guards, he knew that he had crossed the idiot lord’s borders. Most lords wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and send out men into another's land, not wanting to risk the political headache. 

Geralt’s lord though was the height of vain and stupid. 

So here he was, almost a day of cat and mouse, still trying to outrun the guards and find a place to hide. His heart went out to Roach; she was used to hard riding at times, having shared in their fair share of escapes. But this was nothing like before, and Geralt could practically smell the exhaustion rising up from her sweat marked flank.

Gritting his teeth, Geralt tried to focus through the pain and the blood loss, eyes scanning for a place to duck into. At the very least it was becoming night, the world darkening around even his powerful eyes. Though that could also be the blood loss. 

So focused on the trees in front of him, Geralt missed the third click of another bolt being fired. Sudden pain flared up in his right shoulder, pitching him forward and almost off of Roach. Roach, bless her, stumbled but kept running, Geralt not able to help the pained gasp that came from him. 

His world seemed to swirl in and out of focus even more, his Witcher stamina at its limit. Geralt barely had the breath to curse as he righted himself on Roach’s back, weakly keeping low over her neck. 

_Fuck. Not good._

Geralt could feel his fingers starting to slip from the reins, the strips of leather suddenly becoming difficult to hold on to. His eyes slid shut for the briefest of moments and that when he felt it. A small tingling over his skin. 

Eyes shooting open again, Geralt used his dwindling energy to guide Roach towards a small dip in the woods, the rocky walls of a river valley starting to rise on either side of them. Hearing the hoots and hollers of the men close behind him, Geralt focused, trying to pinpoint the sensation. 

  
Just as Roach galloped past a section of the rock, Geralt felt again, stronger, on his left side. Pulling on the reins, he makes Roach whirl around, not thinking as he guides her right towards the wall of rock. There’s a moment where Roach resists him, natural instinct coming into play. But Geralt gives her an extremely rare kick to the side, the action combined with the trust she has for him, propelling them into the wall. 

There is the brief sensation of energy running over his skin, Geralt welcoming the feeling of illusion magic as they pass through the rocks and into the cavern on the other side. Immediately, Roach stops, legs shaking as she pants. Geralt can hear his own breaths over hers, can taste copper in his mouth. He gives her a shaky pat, trying to calm her and maybe even himself as he hears the riders approach. 

They come thundering down the valley, their horses hooves clattering on the river rocks and splashing in the small trickles of water. Geralt turns in the saddle, able to make out their shapes as they go by, obscured slightly by the wall’s magic. They don’t even notice, simply keep going with loud jeers, like hounds on a fox hunt. 

Geralt waits, counting ten beats of his slow pulse until his strained sense can’t pick up anything anymore. Then he slumps forward, letting out a low groan. 

“Shit”. 

He means to sit back up, to get off and tend to his wounds. But he’s just so _tired_ \- not only from the past day’s events, but… in general. 

His shoulder hurts from where the arrow is still stuck, but the thought of reaching up and snapping it, pulling out the barb (because of course, these assholes use barbed tips) is too much for Geralt right now. 

Just as he takes a few more shallow breaths, he feels Roach move beneath him, seemingly moving deeper into the cave. 

“Roach…” he murmurs, weakly pulling himself up. It causes both the wound in his gut and shoulder to sing out in pain, Geralt’s vision whiting out momentarily. When he blinks it away with a few gritted breaths, he finds himself blinking away sunlight as well. 

Geralt finds himself stupidly staring at _a fucking cottage._

Roach stops, starting to graze on the short grass, clearly intent on staying where she is now that she can rest. 

Geralt drags himself from her back, the effort leaving him sucking in shallow breaths through his teeth by the time his feet reach the ground. Clutching at his gut, he focuses on walking up to the door of the cottage. Probably a stupid idea considering that this is most likely a sorcerer's house, but Geralt doesn’t really have a choice. 

Vision flickering, Geralt slams against the wooden door, the slight pulse of magic it sends out being negated by his mutations. He raises a fist, pounding on the wood. For a moment all he hears is his own strained breathing, his blood pumping in his ears. Then, ever so faintly…

“F-Father?” 

Geralt thinks he hears the sounds of someone scrambling, the slam of books and papers. A series of quick footsteps and… wings? 

Geralt almost loses his balance when the door is wrenched open, just catching himself on the frame. He looks up and for a moment, all Geralt sees is blue. 

_Like the skys in Kaer Morhen._

Then he registers the gasp of the person facing him. Geralt taking in the rest of them, noticing the blonde hair, the look of surprise on, what he now sees, is a young man’s face. The summer blue eyes blink, once.

“You’re… not my father”

Caught by surprise, Geralt blinks himself.

“Hmmm” is what he manages to respond.

Then he feels himself falling forward, through the door and into darkness.


	2. Life, Begin!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finds himself playing nurse to a mysterious stranger. Geralt finds himself on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all you lovelies! Sorry for the VERY late update. Life happens in weird ways you know? First COVID, then exams, then moving houses... ah, the joys of existing...
> 
> Anyway, I think that I'll still try to finish this AU story, I just don't know when or how long! I hope that you guys have enjoyed the story so far, short as it is, and if you want to leave comments or notice issues with grammar, go for it! 
> 
> Please keep safe out there everyone! Thanks for reading ^_^

Ok. So. Trying to research a way to break the magic rune barrier your overprotective father set up? A little bit harder than Jasiker was expecting. 

What felt like the 40th time that morning, Jaskier slammed a tome shut with a groan. He slouched forward over the desk, lightly thumping his head against it. To his right, Quoth gave a series of concerned chirps and whistles, a whisper of feathers letting Jaskier know he had alighted on the desk beside him.

“Why” - _thump_ \- “is” - _thump_ \- “this” - _thump_ \- “so” - _thump_ \- “hard” - _thump_. 

Letting out a frustrated breath, Jaskier turned his head to look at his friend. Quoth merely pecked at a book before tilting his glossy head towards Jasiker. 

“Ugh. Quoth, why did I ever say that this was going to be easy? This is my father we’re talking about, of course it's not going to be easy”. 

Quoth senses his dismay, hopping closer and rubbing his beak over the top of Jaskier’s head. He lets out a short series of whistles, a memory of a tune from one of his trips to the outside. 

But not even Quoth’s form of music can cheer Jaskier up. “At this rate, I’ll never see the outside” Jaskier mutters into the wood of the desk. 

_And isn’t that just it?_ Jaskier can feel himself growing cold at the idea. He’ll never get to see his songs sung by others. He’ll never get to sing for someone else. 

He can’t help the prick of tears that well up in his eyes, burrowing his head into his arms as he takes a shaky breath. Quoth gives a low, mournful coo, trying to snuggle closer to where Jaskier has his head buried. 

Jaskier allows himself to stay there for a little while more, accepting Quoth’s version of snuggles and chirps. Eventually, he raises his head off the desk, discreetly wiping at his eyes. He shoots Quoth a smile.

“Thanks, my little muse”. 

Quoth squawks, nipping at Jaskier’s fingers when he pats the raven on the head. Decidedly over moping for himself, Jaskier leans back in the chair with a stretch, spinning around and letting his gaze focus on the bookshelves spanning the wall of the cottage.

Jaskier, frowns, thinking. _ If I were a paranoid magic-user, what spells would I use… _

He’s just eyeing a red book with the golden clasp when he’s startled out of his thoughts by the sound of something slamming into the front door. Eyes widening, Jaskier looks at Quoth. Quoth stares back, clearly equally surprised. 

_ Thump, Thump. _

At the sound of the knocking, Jaskier scrambles. 

“F-father?” he calls out, not waiting to hear an answer.

_ Shit. Shit! _ Jaskier hurries to try and shove the books on magic away, stuffing paper into drawers and throwing spare composing parchment over everything. He flutters his hand at Quoth, who takes to the rafters again, but not without shooting Jasiker a beady-eyed glare. 

Too focused on trying to compose himself, Jaskier doesn’t stop to wonder why his father just hasn’t walked in yet. Already thinking that his father is on to him, Jaskier already has an excuse on the tip of his tongue as he reaches for the door handle…

… and opens it to see the most lovely golden eyes. 

Jaskier feels himself stop, registering his own sharp inhale of surprise. He’s frozen to the spot, brain distantly catching up with the rest of him. 

There’s a man on his doorstep. A man with golden, cat-like eyes and…  _ hair as white as the snows _ ? 

Jaskier opens his mouth, his readied excuse dying in the face of a dozen other words that come to his mind as he gazes on the man’s face. He feels questions, bubbling up inside him but all that comes out is…

“You’re... not my father”. 

The golden eye’s blink, slowly. Then the man grunts, a confused sounding ‘huh’, before those same golden eyes roll back in his head and Jaskier has to jump out of the way as the man crashes through the cottage door, falling to the floor. 

There’s a beat of silence where Jaskier only hears the pounding of his heart in his ears. Then Quoth caws, startling Jaskier out of his surprised stupor.

“Oh boy, ok. This is fine, this is fine!” Jaskier jumps as Quoth lands on his shoulder, “this is fine, we just have a… very large man inside our house…”

Jaskier pauses, realization dawning on him. He looks at Quoth.

“We have… a man… inside our house…”

Quoth just tilts his head in confusion as Jaskier grins, looking between the man and the doorway.

“We have a man inside our house!” 

Jaskier can’t help the burst of laughter, Quoth squawking as he dances around the man and the door.

“Oh, this is perfect!” Jaskier grins down at the unconscious man, “You, my good sir” he declares loudly, “are my ticket out of here!” 

The (Still very large and very scary) man lets out a groan, shifting, which totally doesn’t cause Jaskier to jump back five feet. He remains still for a second but the man on the floor doesn’t move, save the slight expanding of his chest as he breathes shallowly.    
  
“Right. Ok. Ok, ticket out of here is still large and potentially dangerous… annnnd slowly bleeding out,  _ shit _ !” 

Jaskier quickly kneels by the man, just now noticing the arrow protruding from the man's shoulder. His hands hover over the various wounds, which are  _ everywhere _ , not quite sure what to do. 

Jaskier looks to Quoth, who hops onto the floor beside him. “What do I do?” he hisses. Quoth just fluffs his collar and laughs.

Jaskier glares at him. “We have a man dying here Quoth, not funny!” 

He jumps again when another groan comes from the man’s lips. Very nice lips now that he’s looking… 

Jaskier mentally smacks himself, shaking his head. He takes another look at the arrow, which looks like it might have gone almost all the way through the man’s shoulder. Very gingerly at first, then with a grunt the second time, Jaskier manages to roll the man onto his side. Assessing him again, Jaskier sees that the man also has a rather large - and very bloody,  _ oh fuck, is that muscle he’s seeing?! _ \- gash on his stomach. Jaskier tries very hard not to be sick.

“Alright, one thing at a time…” 

Reaching towards the man’s shoulder, Jaskier can see that yes, the head of the arrow (though now that he’s really looking at it, it might be a crossbow bolt) is just poking through the man’s skin. Jaskier frowns when he sees the beginning of barbs on the arrowhead. This is not going to be fun. 

Jaskier leans back on his heels, thinking fast. He could try to heal the man first, maybe his magic would remove the bolt in some weird way. But on the other hand, he’s never tried quite this level of healing before, he’s not sure if he can even manage it. 

His answer is made for him when Quoth lands on the injured man, giving a light peck to the bolt and pinning Jaskier with a stare, clearly saying, ‘this first idiot’ The raven’s movement causes the man to wince in his unconscious state. Jaskier gulps. 

“Guess it's better to get this out first, huh?” He says nervously, slowly reaching towards the bolt. Jaskier quickly picks away at the feathered fletching, hoping that will make it easier when he shoves the bolt all the way through. When it’s clear, Jaskier takes another shaky breath, hoping that he won’t throw up.

“Please don’t wake up…” he mutters. Then, he pushes on the bolt. 

He feels the man stiffen underneath him but he keeps going, ignoring Quoth’s nervous hoping beside him. He feels blood, warm beneath his hand and gags. 

“Oh this is so gross, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Ohhhh that is a lot of blood, a  _ lot  _ of blood” 

He gags again but keeps pushing, watching as the barbed head finally comes through completely. The man starts to shift more, eye fluttering, clearly trying to wake up. Panting, Jaskier prepares for the final stretch, carefully grabbing the shaft below the arrowhead and pulling. 

He just manages to pull the shaft free with a sickening squelch as the man jerks away from him groggily. The movement causes Jaskier to fall back on his ass with a yelp, quickly dropping the bolt. 

The man has managed to pull himself into a sitting position and blinks wearily at Jaskier. 

“Where…” is all he manages to growl before his eyes flutter again and he starts to slump forward. Jaskier finds himself scrambling again, just managing to catch the man by the shoulders before he topples over. The man hisses in pain, causing Jaskier to let go of the injured shoulder like it's a hot pan.

“Sorry! Sorry, just uh, didn’t want you to fall on your face… again”. Jaskier is sure the smile he gives is slightly manic, nervousness bubbling up within him. The man just growls again, making a weak attempt to shove Jaskier off. 

“Shut up… and … help…” the man manages to get out, he seems to be trying to glare at Jaskier, but with how glassy his eyes are from the pain, it doesn’t really work. 

Jaskier frowns at him anyway, “excuse you, I am helping”, he bites back. “Now, just… hold still for a moment”

He ignores the man’s boorish grunt of protest as he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sings. 

Jaskier feels the same pull he always does, his voice coming out smooth and light. He focuses on pulling the magic out, weaving it into the air around the two of them. 

“ _ Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine” _

He thinks he feels the man flinch under his fingertips, but he can’t be certain so he keeps going.

“ _ Heal what has been hurt, change the fates’ design. Change what has been lost, bring back what once was mine, what once was mine”. _

Jaskier lets the last notes linger in the air, his own eyes fluttering open. Before him, the man stares at him wide-eyed, making the gold of his irises more pronounced. He keeps staring, making Jaskier start to feel a bit awkward. 

“Uh, you’re welcome?” 

The man just huffs, then sways a bit in Jaskier’s hold. Realizing that the man is probably still exhausted, Jaskier gently guides him to the floor. 

“It's ok, you can rest if you want”, he starts, “I promise there aren’t any more arrows in here”. The man doesn’t comment as Jaskier laughs awkwardly. He does, however, seem to fight the pull of sleep, eyes blinking hard and body stiff as Jaskier lowers him. Once the man is no longer at risk of crashing to the floor (or lying down in his own pool of blood). Jaskier gets up to grab a pillow - because there is no way he’ll be able to move the man to his bed now - and jumps when he feels something grab his ankle. Looking down, he sees where the man has weakly grabbed him. The man seems to try and say something, but it just comes out as something halfway between a grunt and a growl. Jaskier tries his best to give the man a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to grab a few things,” he says. The man seems to register this, hand slipping away as Jaskier quickly runs over to the bed to grab a few pillows and the top blanket. Quoth clicks and chuckles at him as he scrambles back, making Jaskier stick out his tongue at him. He slides to the floor beside the man, trying his best to be gentle as he puts a pillow under the man's head and a blanket over his body. 

The man continues to stare at him, though the span between blinks is getting shorter. Jaskier can tell that he’s still fighting to stay awake for some reason, so he shuffles closer and puts the pillow and the man’s head in his lap. The man tries to turn onto his back, probably to keep Jaskier in his sight, but Jaskier stills him with a gentle hand on his arm. 

“You just get some rest” Jaskier finds himself whispering to the man, “whoever you are”. 

Jaskier starts to comb his fingers through the man’s hair, hoping that it’ll be soothing in some way. Sure enough, by about the third pass of his finger’s over the man’s scalp, he watches the golden eyes flicker shut and then remain that way. 

He doesn’t stop his ministrations for some time after. 

* * *

Geralt normally prides himself on being able to stay coherent even when his body had been pushed past normal limits. It just comes with the territory of being a witcher. 

That’s why it’s so odd to find himself floating out of the blackness of exhaustion, a small ember in his shoulder pulling him back towards consciousness. 

Even as his body goes, his mind struggles to catch up, flashes of memory chasing after him as he continues to be pulled to the surface. _A fight, pain, roach, staggering, a cottage, bright blue eyes..._

Sadly, he’s thrown out of his piecemeal recollection as the ember in his shoulder turns into an inferno. He feels hands, fluttering over and pulling at him. Warm wet liquid seeping all around him.

_ “Oh this is so gross, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Ohhhh that is a lot of blood, a lot of blood”  _

He wants to growl at the voice, tell them to stop, just let him do it, but his body just doesn’t seem to want to work.  _ ‘Blood Loss’ _ , he hears Vesemir's voice say in his head, ' _ you can be as strong as you want boys, but even if a Witcher loses blood they won't be able to do shit’.  _

_ Ah _ , Geralt thinks,  _ fuck _ . 

That’s all the coherency Geralt has for a second, the pain in his shoulder becoming blinding enough to make him jerk away instinctually. Thankfully, the pain is also the last push it takes for Geralt to open his eyes, blinking blearily as he tries to gauge his surroundings. 

The first thing he takes in is that he’s indoors somehow, a well-sized cabin from the looks of it. The next thing his eyes land on is a young man, sitting facing Geralt. He’s clearly scared - even delirious, Geralt would recognize that fear-scent anywhere, seeing as it clings to him in every tavern or town he passes through. Yet, it’s different somehow, not as sour. 

Struggling to pull himself up, Geralt finally sees the bloodied crossbow bolt lying on the floor, his eyes following it up to the blood splatters that cover the man's hands and stand out against the pale blue of his tunic. Even though the room tilts for a second, Geralt manages to get himself into a sitting position.

“Where am I?” he tries to ask, though only the first word seems to make it past his clenched teeth. His eyes flutter shut without his volition, the radiating pain from his gut and shoulder - plus the lack of blood - making the room spin dizzyingly.

Instead of meeting the floor though, Geralt feels another spike of pain, causing him to hiss in protest as the young man grabs him before he can fall over. 

Geralt hears the man apologize, but everything is hard to focus on. Hearing the man continue on babbling, Geralt can’t quite help the annoyed growl that vibrates out of his chest. He tries to get his balance by grabbing the man’s arms but just ends up shoving at him instead. 

Knowing that unless the clearly nervous man gets his wits about him, Geralt realizes that he is about to bleed to death on this floor.

“Just shut up and help” he urges, hoping that what Eskell calls his ‘do-what-you’re-told-before-I-gut-you’ glare will be enough to do the trick. He really doesn’t have the energy to do much else. 

He watches as the young man’s face crumples inwardly in an almost comedic fashion. Geralt almost enjoys how the man’s lips turn up into a slight pout, which really shouldn’t be that intriguing considering he’s about to pass out from blood loss. The man’s eyes,  _ blue, like a cloudless day, the only spot of colour in the dark room he laid in, pain just like this, worse than this,  _ although beautiful _ \- where did that come from? _ \- are clouded with worry, which maybe explains the strange other fear-scent. 

Then suddenly the blue is gone, the man closing his eyes. Geralt just manages to let out a small grunt of confusion before music fills the room around them. 

Geralt is struggling to focus on remaining upright, so he doesn't quite catch the words. But they are… ethereal nonetheless. The man’s voice is clear, his face relaxed and showing his youth as he sings. Geralt can do nothing but stare.

Beautiful, his mind supplies. The young man’s face reminding Geralt of the few dryads he’s witnessed, their faces aglow with the sun filtering through the trees…

  
It’s with a start that Geralt realizes that the man is actually glowing, his eye’s widening as he watches the man’s blonde hair take on an even more brilliant quality, almost seeming to throw the rest of the cabin into shadow. 

As quickly as it comes, the glow fades, along with the last notes of the man’s song. The man’s eyes flutter open, looking serenely back at Geralt with a small smile. 

Geralt gets a very strange urge to lean forward into the man’s space. 

It takes him a second to shake out of it, but by then the man’s smile has shifted, taking on an element of awkwardness. 

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

It’s with a huff Geralt realizes that he can finally focus on the man’s words, finding it odd that the pain from before has disappeared. He can’t dwell on it long though, _both the lack of pain and the fact that he has clearly stumbled into some kind of magic users lair_ because a wave of plain exhaustion makes Geralt dizzy again.

Geralt finds himself being gently guided towards the floor, the man’s voice once again washing over him. Geralt finds that it’s actually almost soothing, now that his imminent death has passed. Still, he fights against the pull of sleep, the old niggling feeling of being in an unfamiliar space preventing him from relaxing completely. 

He senses the man get up to leave and for a moment, Geralt is struck by a childish urge not to be alone. Which is... odd. Lying on the ground, in the middle of nowhere and hoping the healing rest of sleep will fix him is nothing new to Geralt. Still, it doesn’t stop his arm from shooting out, not nearly as fast as he usually is, and grabbing blindly onto the man as he turns. 

Geralt feels the man’s skin flinch underneath his fingertips. Worried that he might have been careless with his Witcher strength, Geralt is about to snatch his arm back before he hears the man’s voice, taking on a soothing tone. Even the man’s scent, which spiked with adrenaline from when Geralt grabbed him, smooths out, radiating calm. 

It’s with that that Geralt lets the man slide from his fingertips, everything about him suddenly becoming heavy. Soon enough, the man returns, and Geralt feels a blanket being placed over him while his head is shifted onto a pillow. 

His Witcher training still won’t allow him to relax though, years spent learning to sleep with one eye open keeping him from drifting off towards the healing rest that oblivion usually brings. Geralt finds himself staring up into blue eyes instead, wondering if he closes his own, they’ll disappear. 

For a moment they do, Geralt losing sight of them as he feels the man shuffle closer, getting Geralt’s head sorted on his lap. 

Geralt tries to turn -  _ no wait - _ but is stopped by a light pressure on his arm. In the next instant, Geralt feels fingers carding through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. 

It should be odd, feel invasive somehow. Witcher’s don’t usually let bedpartners let alone random strangers touch them in such an intimate way. Instead, Geralt finds himself relaxing, each pass of the fingers seemingly stealing away the tension in his muscles. 

A memory, long forgotten, drifts to the forefront of Geralt’s mind. The sensation of slightly longer fingers, the heat of a fire, a woman’s voice overhead. 

Between one brush and the next, the memory fades. Geralt fades into sleep alongside it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I focus on the presence of eyes more than the Great Gatsby or Joyce's Ulysses? YOU BETCHA.   
> *stage whisper* ITS ABOUT THE YEARNINGGGGG
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the slightly shorter chapter. I hope that you guys still enjoyed it! Also, be prepared for more stupid cliches because c'mon... its a Disney AU...

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-dah!! Tangled is my favourite modern Disney film of all time, so trying to figure out what elements I would keep and which ones I would play around with was a lot of fun. Also, Quoth is 100% a self-insert for the kind of pet I would want if I was a Disney princess. It's also a way of exasperating my friend because she hates that pun (get it? Quoth the Raven? Edgar Allen Poe? Eh? EH??). 
> 
> I'm still new to this fic writing game, so if you have any suggestions or comments I would love to hear them! Cause writing dialogue is a BITCH. Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed it!! Stay safe and sane out there my dudes!!
> 
> (For any of you coming on over from the other fic that I was writing, I'll be honest and say I'm not sure if I'm going to finish it. I was struggling with completing the story even before I started getting disinterested in the Voltron fandom. Klance will always have a special place in my heart, but I'm not sure if I can keep creating using those characters... For everyone that did support me over there, thank you SO MUCH. It was amazing to see all the support for a first time fic writer.)


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